


Man's Best Friend

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: D/s, Kink Meme, M/M, Puppy Play, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loyalty, trust and obedience are precious gifts, and dogs are better judges of character than humans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man's Best Friend

Waiting is the hardest part. Too much time makes him nervous. He thinks too much, remembers too much – and beneath it all, as steady as a heartbeat, he feels the longing. It claws at him, makes him twist with desire and fear.

Nelson sits on Nico's couch. He chews his thumbnail, worrying at the very tip. He doesn't do it to damage or break the nail. It's just the sensation of the nail between his teeth that he likes. If his father saw him doing this, he'd clip him round the ear and tell him not to be such a child.

He uncurls from his position and puts his head in his hands. He shouldn't have spoken out to the media like that; shouldn't have said those things about Flavio. It was stupid. Childish. The ignorance of a spoiled brat who wants his own way. Nelson cringes from the last phrase, remembering the violence in his father's words even through the safe distance of a telephone line.

"You think Flavio cares about having friends?" His father's anger was a palpable thing, a monster growing in the corner of the room. "You think I care about having friends? He and I, we can buy friends. Money. Power. Influence. These are important. Friends are for the weak and simple-minded."

Nelson knows it's not true. How can it be true, when through Nico – his friend – he finds such welcome relief, such blessed distraction?

He could make it easier on himself by paying someone to attend to his needs, but the anonymity of discreet services and the jaded, commercial look behind the brightest of professional smiles leaves him cold. This isn't a commodity. He needs a friend to do it. It's not about correction or humiliation, either, and it's not really about belonging. To Nelson, it's about loyalty and trust. Especially now, when the betrayals have become too much to bear, he still believes in it. He has to believe in it.

He spends two hours arguing with himself, crossing the polished wooden floor of the apartment to draw battle lines for fights waged in his head. At times he thinks this is ridiculous: he should leave, maybe, or turn on the stereo or play a computer game – do anything to signal to Nico on his return that nothing's changed, that he is still Nelson, that he can deal with this. Then he turns about, crosses from the shadow of the bookshelves to the square of light beneath the window, and looks back through the dust motes as if he can see himself still there in the darkness. _No_ , he tells himself – _you need this. Let it go. Let it take you. It's the only way you'll find peace_.

The clock ticks closer to three. Nelson stares at it, knowing he's running out of time to make his decision. It's always so difficult to decide what he wants. It would be easier if Nico had given him an order. It would be better if, before he'd left the apartment this morning, Nico had told Nelson what he expected of him. Instead, Nico had said, "I'll be back at three. If you want it, you know what to do."

Nelson still doesn't know if he wants it. He's torn, indecision stifling him and firing out surges of panic. He flits about the room and finds himself in front of the velvet box on one of the bookshelves. Nico placed it there earlier, unlocking the box with a little silver key. Nelson gazes down at it and bites his lower lip. He knows what's inside. He knows how the contents will change him, yet still he hesitates.

The box is on the second shelf up from the floor. He kneels before it and places both hands on the lid. The velvet is the colour of dried blood; its nap is soft beneath his fingers. Nelson closes his eyes, letting his fingertips move in slow circles over the velvet, then he lifts the lid.

He takes a deep breath. In for the count of five, hold for ten, out for five. He repeats it until his heartbeat calms, until his hands no longer tremble. He looks into the box before cautiously dipping his fingers inside. As if in a daze, Nelson lifts out the items and sets them neatly upon the floor. A small bottle of lube. A leash of silver chain with a clip on one end. A thick rubber butt-plug with a tail attached – a short, jaunty dog's tail that sticks up when worn correctly.

The final item is the most important. Nelson lifts it with both hands, his touch reverent. It's a collar: the front plain black leather, hand-stitched, padded on the inside with a veneer of dark silk; the back a narrow strip of silver links to match the leash.

Nelson becomes aware of his breathing. It's accelerated; he's almost panting. He forces himself to slow down, to take deeper breaths. His head buzzes with a sound like the whining of a mosquito trapped in an airless room. He puts his hands to his temples, trying to block out the noise, but there's only one way to silence it.

He replaces the collar in the box and stumbles to his feet, stripping out of his clothes. He can't do it fast enough, throwing the discarded garments to the floor, trampling them in his desperation. Naked and trembling, he approaches the velvet box and slips to his knees again.

Shivers rack his body. His cock half rises. He crawls closer to the objects on the floor and picks up the butt-plug. For a moment he caresses the tail, feeling the curve of the wire beneath the clever arrangement of synthetic skin and hair. Nelson rubs it against his cheek. It's his tail; he needs to own it.

He touches the tip of his tongue to the thickest part of the plug, then takes the lube and slathers the cool, viscous gel over the tapered point. Discarding the bottle, he sits back, leaning his weight to one side and bending one knee to his chest. He makes certain the tail is facing the right way before he positions the plug against his anus. Nelson remembers the first time he took this – Nico had slid it inside him then, making sure he was ready for it – but now he must do it alone.

A glance at the clock shows the time as twenty-two minutes to three. A gleam of panic makes him hurry, and he pushes the plug inside his arse. An involuntary gasp escapes him at the stretch of his sensitive flesh. Even with the lube, it burns. His hole clenches around the plug, simultaneously trying to draw it deeper and expel it. Nelson twists it by the tail, yelping a little. His erection surges into full strength, a familiar needy ache curling in him like fire.

Carefully, he eases himself forward on hands and knees, arching his back downwards. He glances over his shoulder and approves of the angle of the tail. He gives a little wriggle, watching the tail wag. A smile curves his lips, the first smile he's managed all day. Simple happiness fills him, and he turns his attention to the length of chain. He hesitates, one hand over the cold metal links. He doesn't want to be leashed today; he wants to be free to play. Hoping he made the right decision, he returns the silvery chain to the bookshelf.

His muscles tighten around the plug inside him. He sits back on his heels, feeling the tip of his tail brush over the floor, and retrieves the collar from the velvet box. Nelson brings it to his lips and kisses it. He inhales the scent of the leather, catching the sharper spike of sweat and the faintest hint of cologne from the silk on the underside. Memories flood over him, making his cock jerk.

Nelson holds the open collar against his throat. He looks at the clock. Ten minutes to three. He swallows, nervous desire fighting against his need to display himself to best advantage for Nico. He presses the leather closer, wishing he didn't have to take this final step alone. Collaring himself seems like a heresy. His hands shake, his fingers fumbling at the back of his neck as he fastens the clip through one of the silvered links.

A heavy, dream-like pall drifts over him. The buzzing in his head fades to the roar of silence. His limbs feel weighted. He feels invincible, desirable, confident. Nelson gives another wriggle, his tail wagging, and then he crawls from the bookshelves to the front door. There he assumes the position, kneeling upright, thighs wide apart, back straight, hands clasped behind him, his tail tickling against his wrists.

He waits, counting his heartbeat, counting his breaths.

Three o'clock comes and goes.

 _He's late._

Anxiety taps at the fragile bubble of his confidence. Panic strains the floating sensation of headspace, like a thin ribbon stretched too tight. Nelson swallows his fear and fixes his gaze on the clock, watching the hands shift.

 _He's late he's late he's late –_

The scrape of a key in the lock makes him sit up, quivering and eager. His breath catches in his throat. His tail begins to wag. He almost lifts a paw from the floor, almost rushes to the door in welcome, but remembers in time that he's a good dog who always does what Master tells him.

"Hello, boy." Master walks through the door, his dark blond hair dishevelled and his colour high. He sounds out of breath, as if he's been running. Looped around one wrist is a paper bag full of groceries. Master drops his keys onto a side table and places the bag on the floor. He crouches and holds out his arms, and Nelson scrabbles towards him with small noises of joy. He's allowed to put his paws on Master's ripped blue jeans, allowed to nuzzle close and press against him. Nelson turns in his arms, paws lifting, gripping into Master's leather jacket.

"Did you miss me?" Master ruffles Nelson's hair, burying his face against his neck. "I'm sorry I'm late. You must've been worried."

Nelson whimpers and turns his head to lick Master's cheek. Master tastes good, warm and sweet. Nelson wants to lick him all over. Master laughs, gently pushing him down as he gets to his feet.

"I picked up a few things for dinner tonight. Steak. You like steak, don't you?" Master collects the grocery bag and carries it into the kitchen. Nelson sits at the door and watches him put away the food. The collar chafes his neck and he lifts a paw to scratch at it. Master notices and comes over, bending to inspect the strip of silver and leather.

"Too tight? You silly thing." His tone is affectionate, and he strokes Nelson's hair again before loosening the collar by one notch. Master caresses his throat, and Nelson closes his eyes and leans into his hand. His cock stirs again. He thinks he could come just from Master's sure touch.

Then Master tweaks his ear and gets up. "C'mon, boy. Heel."

Pulled out of his daze, Nelson shakes his head. He patters after Master, following his long strides into the bedroom. He sits on a rug and watches as Master takes off his leather jacket and slings it across the bed. Nelson turns to investigate the sleeve hanging over the side of the mattress. The leather is old and worn, the garment lined with torn satin. The cuffs have turned pale with age and wear, and the stitching is coming undone. Nelson noses at the cuff, catching the scent of Master's sweat and the sweetness of some masculine fragrance. He snaps up, and taking the jacket in his teeth, pulls it from the bed onto the floor. New scents emerge before him, all relating to Master. Nelson licks at the leather, feeling the smooth glide beneath his tongue, then he sniffs at the ragged satin lining. He paws at the jacket, bites at the shine of a zip.

"Leave it."

Nelson lifts his head, tail slow-wagging in confusion. Master stands over him, a frown drawing his brows together. He shakes a finger in unmistakable command. "Good boy. Now let go."

Master takes his jacket from the floor, nudging Nelson's forepaws out of the way as he does so. He hangs the garment on a coat-hook then puts one foot on the seat of a chair as he unlaces his shoes.

Nelson sits and stares, his mouth going dry as he admires Master's body. Master wears old jeans, the fabric washed soft and pale. The denim hugs tight to his thighs, clings to the curve of his arse. When Master bends over to put away his shoes, Nelson whimpers low in his throat. His erection pulses, and Nelson crouches low on the rug to hide it, feeling his cock bounce against his belly.

Master's long wings of hair fall forward, the blond streaked with sunlight and shading into a dozen honeyed tones. Overcome with adoration, Nelson skitters up from the rug and approaches Master. He sniffs up the back of Master's long thighs and nuzzles at his high, rounded arse. Nelson brushes his nose against the worn denim, scenting the fresh smell of washing powder and the exciting musk of warmth and arousal.

Laughing, Master bats him away. Nelson whines and lies on his belly, tail wagging gently. He props his chin on his paws and looks up.

Master gives him an indulgent smile as he balls up his socks and tosses them into the laundry basket. His bare feet are pale and beautiful. Nelson nips at the toes, licking across the whole of one foot before resting his cheek against it and sighing.

"You're so cute. Such a pretty puppy." Master gets down on one knee and strokes through Nelson's hair. The touch continues down his back; long, strong sweeps over his spine towards his tail. Nelson gives a little whimper of delight, pressing against the hard wooden floor. His erection is trapped between his belly and the varnished floorboards, and he rocks forward, squeezing it tighter until he feels pre-cum ooze against his skin.

He rolls onto his back, paws up, legs splayed. Master's gaze flickers towards his cock, but his expression doesn't alter. Master caresses his chest and rubs at his belly, stroking upwards. Nelson's stomach muscles flutter, the pattern of tense-release-tense-release churning his excitement higher. His cock jerks, the head shiny and drooling a single glistening thread of clear liquid.

Nelson wriggles on his back, his tail shoved to one side. The action pushes the butt-plug deeper, and he chokes on a groan. He lifts his hips and whines. The sound breaks into gasps when Master patters his fingers through the fur of his belly and slides his palm over Nelson's cock.

It's a tease. Master resumes his stroking, tugging at the hair on Nelson's chest with just enough force to make him rock his head from side to side. The ache in his balls grows stronger, his cock rigid and needy. Nelson fixes his gaze on Master, trying to look appealing, hoping his puppy dog eyes will show Master what he wants.

But Master appears oblivious. He sighs and rises to his feet. His white shirt has tugged free of his jeans. As he moves to the bed, Nelson notices the way the fine cotton pulls tight across Master's shoulders and how the sunlight streaming through the window hints at the body beneath.

Nelson scrambles up from the floor. His heartbeat pounds in his ears. Desire seizes him. He loves Master. He wants to play. Nelson winds around Master's feet, butting at the back of his knees until Master loses his balance and falls onto the bed.

Dogs aren't allowed on the bed. Nelson knows that, but he's willing to take the chance. He jumps up, the duvet soft and squashy beneath his paws. He pounces on Master with an excited yip, pinning him down. He squirms, snaps his teeth at Master's shirt and tears at it. The buttons strain and pop. Nelson wriggles higher, using his forepaws to claw at the shirt. It falls open, and Nelson gazes with rapture at Master's naked chest. He jolts forward, licking through the soft smattering of hair, tasting the delicate sheen of Master's sweat.

Master grips Nelson's head as if to shove him away, but Nelson refuses to be denied. He writhes up Master's body, his paws heavy across Master's flat belly. He snuffles at Master's skin. His scent is intoxicating. Nelson wants to roll in it, wants to surround himself with Master's smell. He nuzzles beneath Master's armpit, his tongue delving into the heat to taste where the scent is strongest.

Nelson feels Master grab his tail near the base. He whiffles, flicking his tail in protest. The grip tightens, the butt-plug twisting within him. Nelson jerks back, whining for forgiveness, shivering at the pleasure sparking through his arsehole. He drops his head to Master's belly and licks at his navel, uses his teeth to graze at the flesh just above the waistband of his jeans.

He flattens himself over Master's legs, grinding his cock against Master's shin. Nelson shudders at the sensation of old denim against his hot shaft. He dry-humps Master's leg, his breath panting out of him, his arousal spiralling out of control. He scrabbles his paws over Master's thighs and presses his face against the hard bulge filling out the front of Master's jeans. Master smells of want and need. Nelson nuzzles closer, using his teeth to mouth at Master's cock through the denim.

Master groans and arches into it, his hips canting. He rubs against Nelson's face before he comes to his senses with a cry of anger. Pushing at him, Master snaps, "Bad dog, get down!"

Nelson backs away. When Master points at the floor imperiously, Nelson slinks from the bed and flops down onto the rug. He presses his back legs together and lifts his arse high, his tail wagging. He growls low in his throat, watching Master climb off the mattress. He looks flustered, his hair tangled around his face, his breathing heavy and staccato. Master shoots him a strange, challenging look and strips off his ruined shirt.

The white cotton flutters to the floor like a flag of surrender. Nelson wants to seize the garment and carry it away, but he remains where he is, his gaze unswerving.

Master faces him. His hands go to his belt. Slowly, he unbuckles it. Nelson shivers at the hiss of leather through belt loops. He jumps when Master drops the belt, letting it clatter on the floorboards. Nelson lifts up onto his forepaws, leaning forward as Master pushes his jeans and underwear down over his thighs. He steps out of his clothes, kicking them aside, and stands naked in the sunlit room.

Nelson licks his lips. Master is magnificent, his cock hard and proud. Nelson wags his tail, watching, waiting for permission. Master doesn't move, just stares at him with that same look of challenge. Nelson feels the leak of pre-cum across his thigh as he takes a hesitant step forward. He glances down and sees the trail of sticky wetness looping across the floor, as delicate as a spider web. Raising his gaze, he beseeches Master with his gaze not to punish him for his lack of control. When Master gives no sign, Nelson creeps closer, lifting his head to breathe in the deep scent of musk. He covets Master's body, but when he crawls within touching distance, Master puts one foot on Nelson's shoulder to hold him back.

Nelson pushes against the restraint for a moment, then turns his head and kisses Master's ankle. Feeling Master shiver, Nelson nudges at his foot and licks his toes, his tongue darting between each digit before he sucks on them.

Master groans, his toes curling. He pulls free and places his foot firmly on the floor. Nelson takes advantage of Master's position, curving about his legs and nuzzling at his knees. He sits back, tracing his mouth higher, licking across the bunched muscle of Master's thigh, working inwards to swirl his tongue through coarse, glossy pubic hair. The scent of sex overwhelms him. Nelson sucks Master's balls into his mouth, tonguing them gently, rolling them.

Master quivers, his hands gripping Nelson's hair and drawing him close. "Dirty puppy," Master whispers, his voice hoarse and strained. "Lick me."

Nelson releases Master's sac and presses his nose into the wet heat, covering his face with his own saliva. He nudges upward, panting as he licks the root of Master's cock. He wriggles higher, raised up on his hind legs, his tongue moving briskly up Master's full length. He tastes salty, his pre-cum gleaming from the slit. Nelson worships the cockhead, so dark and eager. His own erection thickens and bounces as he moves closer.

"Take my cock." Master grips his shaft and guides it into Nelson's mouth. He moans. "Yes. Like that. Good dog."

Nelson gives an answering growl as Master's cock slides between his lips. The salt-sweet flavour stimulates his tongue, flooding his mouth with saliva. He moves back and forth, sucking hard. The reality of Master's cock in his mouth makes Nelson dizzy. He takes him as deep as he can, his nose brushing Master's pubes. The collar is tight around his throat now. He can feel each movement with exquisite slowness and clarity: lick, taste, swallow, breathe.

His eyes close. Nelson falls into a rhythm, guided by Master's hands in his hair, by the twitches of Master's cock and the fresh spill of pre-cum. His groan of ecstasy is muffled. Nelson rests his forepaws on Master's thighs, feeling the muscles there flex as Master fucks his mouth.

Master's breathing breaks into gasps. Suddenly he pushes Nelson away. "Stop."

Nelson releases Master's cock with a wet slurp. Saliva trickles from his slack lips. He rubs a paw against his face then leans forward again, trying to capture Master's glistening cock. But Master keeps him down with one hand on his head, and then Master kneels behind him.

Master's hands are warm on his arse. Nelson wags his tail faster, his cock bouncing with the movement. It's engorged, dripping; even the brush of his swollen cockhead against his belly makes him want to explode, but Master hasn't given him permission yet.

"Beautiful boy," Master murmurs, his breath a ticklish whisper.

Nelson yearns, arching his back to push his arse higher in invitation. His tail catches in Master's hair, flicks against his cheek. Master chuckles and grasps Nelson's tail, strokes down its length before he places both hands on Nelson's buttocks and spreads the cheeks apart.

"So fucking beautiful." Master licks around the base of Nelson's tail, his tongue-tip flickering over the ring of muscle stretched wide by the butt-plug. Nelson tries to lurch forward, but Master grips him tight, fingers digging into his flesh. Held still, Nelson submits to the leisurely sweeps of Master's questing tongue. Master makes purring sounds of enjoyment as he works; gasping moans roll from Nelson's throat in response.

Pleasure builds deep within him. He rocks against Master's face, his awareness of their surroundings shutting down to nothing more than sensation. He feels the breath rasping in his throat, the constriction of the collar snug around his neck as he strains for climax and yet fights to keep it back. He can't smell Master any more. He only smells himself, the odour of dark wanton need and the animal stink of sweat.

Master grips his tail in one hand and gives it a sharp yank, pulling the plug from his body. Nelson jerks back his head and howls. His anus twitches. He feels empty without the plug inside him. Lube slicks out of his hole, mixing with Master's saliva. He whimpers, lowering his head, his forelegs trembling as the world tilts wildly on its axis.

A moment later, Master's finger rubs across his hole. Master buries his head between his buttocks and his tongue probes his sensitised flesh. Nelson's whimpers ascend into incoherent cries. He wrenches back against Master's mouth, feeling the slick of saliva coat the cheeks of his arse. Master licks down his crack, the point of his tongue circling, thrusting. Nelson's forelegs buckle and he drops forward onto his paws, his buttocks high and his thighs spread. The wet squelch-slurp sounds of Master's tongue-fucking make him cringe in shame, but he's almost beyond shame now, so excited, so hard, so frantic for more.

Ecstasy crawls through him, ripples of anguished pleasure stroking up his spine. Nelson flicks his head from side to side, his hair damp with sweat and hanging in his eyes. He blinks, seeing the square of sunlight cutting across the rug and touching his forepaws. His vision blurs; darkness caresses the edges of his consciousness. He pants for breath, his chest heaving, his heart almost bursting.

Master moves behind him, tilting his arse up, one hand on his hip to hold him in place. Nelson keens, imagining what he can't see: Master's beautiful cock poised at the entrance to his body, Master's expression utterly intent as he judges his stroke.

Already primed by the plug, his anus sheathes Master's first thrust with tight, gripping heat. Nelson hangs his head, biting at his bicep to stop the slow scream of pleasure. Master fills him completely, burying himself deep. They hang together motionless for a long moment until Master gives a quivering moan and withdraws almost all the way out. Nelson's paws scrabble on the floorboards as he drives back, impaling himself on Master's cock.

"Yes. God, yes," Master hisses. "Gonna fuck you, baby. Fuck you hard and fast until you scream for me."

Nelson shivers. The effort of holding back takes all his concentration. He's been fighting his orgasm, forcing it to recede, but at Master's dirty, thrilling words, it rises again. His balls climb, tuck themselves high against his body. His cock feels like it's made of fire, the ache unbearable.

Master rams his cock all the way back inside Nelson's arse. Nelson can't even whimper now. His self-control is shredding with every thrust, his grasp on reality unravelling with every sticky-sweet wet sound. He bucks against Master's rhythm, but Master slaps his arse hard, forcing Nelson to accept it. The sting sears through him, the pleasure-pain wired direct to his cock. He sobs, his body shaking as his climax coils from his paws to his head, tightening every muscle. He can't hold back any longer. His vision gutters with tears of stubborn pride. He is a good dog, he is an obedient dog. He won't let Master down.

Above him, inside him, Master fucks him like an animal. Nelson feels the heat of Master's body against his back, the slick of sweat burning between them. Master adjusts his position and clasps him closer, screwing himself in tighter. His thrusts steepen and his breathing splinters. Master jerks suddenly, a marionette to orgasm, and as he fills Nelson with hot seed, he gasps, "Now, baby. Do it. Come for me."

Nelson sways forward, his internal muscles flexing to drag out every last drop of Master's spunk. He takes his weight on one paw and wraps the other around his desperate cock. He jerks it hard. A few strokes are all he needs before he's coming, the pleasure a black wave of intensity as it breaks over him. He screams, one single sound to punctuate his climax, and his body spasms, hot cream spattering the floor as he comes and comes and comes.

He collapses onto his front, the breath shuddering from his open, gasping mouth. Sweat stings his eyes and tears blur his sight, slipping in cool damp tracks down his overheated face. A muted howl escapes him, fading into a soft keening noise. His shudders become sobs, his mind spinning away into flight.

"Oh, baby." Master lifts him and draws him close, tucks Nelson against his chest, one hand on the back of his head, stroking, stroking. Master nuzzles through Nelson's damp hair and kisses his forehead. "I'm here, baby. I'm right here."

Nelson is flying, his fingers helplessly curling and relaxing against Master's sweat-streaked chest. He can't stop shaking, the memory of his orgasm still earthbound while his mind spins and soars in the brightness high above. Even Master feels far away, but Nelson hears him call, hears the tender command for him to come back to earth.

He feels Master fumble with the clasp on the collar. The slight clumsiness makes him human, and Nelson loves him all the more for it. He takes deep breaths, his eyes still closed as the collar comes undone. It slips from his neck, a slide of leather and a silvery jingle of chain. The symbol of his subservience removed, he becomes a man again, weak and flawed and with responsibilities he can no longer ignore. Master becomes Nico, his friend, his lover, the only one to understand his needs.

The collar tumbles to the wooden floor and lies uncoiled like a lazy snake, its links gleaming in the sunlight like a promise, a reassurance.

Nico cups a hand to Nelson's face, tilting back his head to look at him. In his eyes is compassion and adoration, things Nelson isn't sure he deserves.

"You're safe. So safe," Nico assures him between kisses.

Nelson leans against him, breathing in Nico's warmth and love. For now, he feels secure, content. He closes his eyes on a smile. He may not have a race seat, but he has something much better. He has a friend.


End file.
